


waiting for it (that green light)

by haemophilus



Category: Daredevil (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Mental Health Issues, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Returning from the dead is mixed in there somewhere, Typical boy meets girls - girls meet each other - girls fall in love narrative, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-22 16:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17063093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haemophilus/pseuds/haemophilus
Summary: She keeps coming over. Cups of coffee turn into glasses of wine when the dead of winter hits and Karen finds it harder to sleep. Sometimes, Elektra stays the night, snoring softly on Karen’s couch and gone by morning. It’s always disappointing to see her blanket folded up on the couch neater than before she came.





	waiting for it (that green light)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dawittiest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawittiest/gifts).



> Daw requested Karen/Elektra ‘fucking over how badass they are.’ So anyway, with her enthusiastic permission, here is Karen and Elektra falling in love. This was the least secret Santa of my life. Merry Christmas, daw!

It's two weeks into her reanimation when Elektra appears at her window. Karen's taking her evening meds and enjoying the cool fall breeze when she smells Elektra's unmistakable perfume. Matt, with all his thoughtfulness and tact, has never forgotten to mention that perfume.

“We need to talk, Karen Page,” she says, one leg already through Karen’s window. All of these costumed types are the same - _so_ dramatic.

“You could’ve knocked,” says Karen irritably. Elektra tilts her head quizzically as though the thought had never occurred to her.

“Would you prefer if I entered the other way?”

Karen pinches the bridge of her nose.

“No. You're already here. Buzzing you in would just be a hassle now.”

Elektra steps all the way inside. She flits her eyes around the room as though an attacker might pop up at any minute.

“No bars,” she says, looking back at the window.

“Matt hates doors too,” says Karen. A smile dances around Elektra’s lips.

“He is an idiot.”

*

She makes them a pot of coffee like any of this is normal. Elektra subtly shifts her weight from her right foot to her left as Karen grabs milk and sugar and two mugs. She clearly wants to speak but, goddammit, if she _has to_ intrude upon Karen at ten-o-clock via her window then the rest of this discussion is going to be on Karen’s terms.

Anyway, it’s easy to pretend she doesn’t know Elektra is antsy. The only reason Karen notices at all is that she’s well-versed in the subtle body language of an anxious fighter pretending to be calm.

Karen puts the mugs, sugar, and cream on the table. She pours both of them a cup, puts the pot back where it belongs, and sits down.

“Why are you here?” she says as she pours cream into her coffee. Elektra picks up her mug with both hands and takes a sugarless sip.

“Why are _you_?” says Elektra.

Karen almost gives her typical non-answer of _I live here_ because, God, she is _so_ tired of having this talk. She drops her defensiveness when she remembers that Elektra is another member of Matt Murdock’s Lonely Hearts Club. Dead girlfriends gotta stick together.

“I don’t know,” says Karen. “One day I was dead and then the next I was just. . .back.”

She scoops some sugar into her coffee and stirs it until it’s light and sweet. Then, she takes a sip. Elektra nods, her brow furrowing in thought.

“So no. . .dark magic? Ninjas? Demonic possession?”

“Not that I know of,” says Karen. She takes another sip. “Matt thinks it might have something to do with Dr. Strange. But he’s got amnesia, so -”

“So you’re stuck with no answers,” says Elektra.

“Pretty much.”

They sit in silence as they sip their coffee. Strangely, it’s not uncomfortable companionship. Elektra could be mistaken for an invited guest if she wasn’t in her tight costume. Karen thinks about offering her a sweatshirt, but decides against it when she realizes she doesn’t know how long Elektra will be in town. There hasn’t been enough time since her resurrection to gather enough sweatshirts to give away. Finally, Elektra stands, and looks back towards Karen’s bedroom.

“You should put bars on your window,” says Elektra. “Your life is worth more than his convenience. Or mine.”

She leaves via the window anyway.

*

The next time Elektra appears, she's wearing a sweatshirt and bearing gifts. Karen buzzes her in, confused. She's not sure even _Matt_ has seen Elektra in street clothes in at least fifteen years.

Elektra grips her door frame apprehensively when Karen opens it, as though she’s a demon who needs to be invited inside. She has no weapons - no _makeup_ even - so Karen trusts that it's just nervousness.

“It was very rude of me to barge in on you like that the other night,” Elektra explains after Karen invites her inside. “I forget sometimes that not everyone is a potential enemy. Sometimes there are allies. Or friends.”

She hands Karen a brown bag with soft pink tissue paper inside.

“Thank you,” says Karen. She rifles around inside the bag and pulls out a coffee grinder and a plastic bag of beans.

“I was just in Colombia,” says Elektra. “I thought you might like some fresh beans.”

*

She keeps coming over. Cups of coffee turn into glasses of wine when the dead of winter hits and Karen finds it harder to sleep. Sometimes, Elektra stays the night, snoring softly on Karen’s couch and gone by morning. It’s always disappointing to see her blanket folded up on the couch neater than before she came.

 _You can stay in my bed_ , she thinks to say each time Elektra toes the line between sleep and waking. _I want to know when you leave,_  keeps the invitation in her throat.

*

“What did it feel like for you to die?” says Karen. It’s late and they don’t talk about this, not ever, but they’re halfway through a bottle of wine and goddammit. She needs to know.  

Elektra licks the rim of her glass in a way that's more improper than sexy. Her brow furrows as she chooses her words.

“It hurt,” she says, putting down her glass. “The pain from the stab wound, of course, but the anger too. Then it felt like nothing.” She wipes a trace of wine from the corner of her mouth with her thumb. “The harder part was coming back.”

Karen curls up her legs to her chest, and wraps an arm around them. Her guts aren’t spilling out; her skin isn’t knitting together. The pain still stays.

Elektra rests her hand on Karen’s. Karen overturns her palm, and grips Elektra’s hand tight.

“I wish I could remember what it was like,” says Karen. “The afterlife, I mean. Matt says he doesn’t want to know, but -”

“They all want to know,” says Elektra. She rubs the back of Karen’s hand with her thumb.

“It’s almost worse that he says he doesn’t want to know,” Karen admits. Elektra squeezes her hand tighter. Her nails dig into Karen’s palm. When she speaks, there is a cold fury in her voice.

“Yes,” she says. “I know.”

*

“Matt has noticed we’re spending a lot of time together,” Karen murmurs to a half-drunk Elektra. They’re on the floor of her apartment, sharing a pillow and facing one another. This is how she lives now - quiet conversations close to the ground as if it can keep the world from listening.

Elektra raises her eyebrows.

“Oh?” she says.

“He told me he thinks you might be plotting something,” says Karen. “That you might be using me.”

Elektra's face becomes too unreadable to mean nothing.

“Do you think that's true?”

Karen shakes her head.

“I told him to mind his own business,” she says.

Elektra covers a laugh with her fingers.

“What did he say to that?”

“Ranted about how you were an assassin and I should be more careful with who I trust,” says Karen.

“He's probably right,” says Elektra.

“He's not,” says Karen, louder than she intends. Elektra's eyes widen. Her fingers curl around her chin. They are too close to Karens. It's not a choice when she grabs Elektra's hand and pulls it to her own chest. Her heart beats fast. Elektra's hand is warm. Miraculously, terribly, wonderfully, they are alive and they are here.

“I don't trust ‘an assassin.’ I trust _you._ ”

*

They meet in Midtown and Noho and the Upper East Side. They meet in Tribeca in coffee shops and in Greenwich Village bars. Once, they meet in Newark, New Jersey. They meet and they meet and they keep meeting. There are yellow roses that match Karen’s hair. Elektra’s hand brushes her back. There is money - _honest_ money from dubious endeavors. The wine is expensive, but not excessively so.

One glass each. Red.

They don’t kiss.

*

One brazen night, Karen says, “You haven’t tried to fuck me yet.”

She’s not even a little drunk - no wine tonight - just pulled taut and close to breaking like an old guitar string.

Elektra looks taken aback. Karen rubs at her eye. She’s too tired to worry about shock. She’s been too tired since before she was dead.

“We haven’t even. . .” says Elektra, trailing off into the almost. She tries again. “Why would I try to fuck you?” The curse lands on a slight whisper. Her manners are endlessly charming; Karen’s heart is going to crack in two.

“Usually it’s all anyone thinks I’m good for,” says Karen. Her honesty sounds petulant to her own ears. She traces shapes into the carpet with her index finger. Infinity sign. Triangle. Circle.

Elektra grabs her hand and kisses it, tender. Her eyes are steely.

“They’re wrong,” says Elektra. Karen’s hand tingles. Her face is hot. She strokes Elektra’s lip with her thumb. Her hand slides back into Elektra’s soft hair. Elektra grabs her wrist to keep it pressed there. _It’s okay._

Karen tilts into Elektra’s lap and kisses her and kisses her and kisses her until there is no air. Elektra is enough to sustain them both.

*

Karen’s on her back, flat against silken sheets. Elektra had scored a penthouse this time in town. No telling how. Maybe it's an Air BnB. She loses time wondering about the rent, her mind floating an inch above her own body. Sex as usual.

Elektra kisses up her thighs, and pauses somewhere around her belly button.

“Where do you go?” she says. Her smooth, lilting voice is tinged with concern.

“What do you mean?” says Karen. It's less feigning ignorance and more feigning that she's feigning ignorance. Matt has told both of them too much, and they've filled in the rest over coffee and the haze of sex. _Stop_ seems too much like it will end the fucking, and trauma talk _definitely_ will. Then, Elektra surprises her. She grinds her palm against Karen’s clit, and kisses the inside of her thigh again.

“Be here with me, Karen Page,” she murmurs against her skin.

Karen strokes the back of Elektra’s neck and breathes in, out, until she feels alive again. She grips Elektra’s hand and squeezes it tight.

“Okay.”

  



End file.
